Toy Soldiers
by Gandalf3213
Summary: It was Tony and McGee who got into this mess, of course, by getting attacked in the suspect's house, but if they hadn't they might have missed the most important part of the case: The underground group that dealt in the trade of children.
1. In Which McGee Meets a Snake

_Step by step, heart to heart, left right left, we all fall down like toy soldiers. Bit by bit, torn apart, we never win, but the battle wages on for toy soldiers. **Eminem**_

"Get away from that thing, Probie!"

McGee turned around and couldn't help but grin at the sight of Tony DiNozzo pinned against the wall, shaking in fear of the thing that his co-worker stood in front of. "You can't tell me you're seriously afraid of snakes? Come on, Tony, I've seen you face down a hundred things more dangerous than this guy!"

Tony shook his head, turning his back on the reptile. "Isn't there something about yellow and red being bad colors on a snake? Like, deadly kind of bad?"

"That's black and red." McGee said, inching the cover of the container up. "And he's sitting on top of a flash drive."

"Oh come on." Tony glanced out the window, then back at the tank holding their cold-blooded friend. "This guy could be back any minute and you're going to play Steve Irwen?"

"You'd rather go back to Gibbs and tell him we passed up a chance to get valuable information because you're a little squeamish?" McGee shot back, inching his fist into the enclosure.

Tony leaned against the counter, hand buried in his hair. And he'd thought this was going to be a good day. Why not? He'd come in this morning humming – actually humming – because it was just one of those days where you woke up feeling good with the world.

And then he'd found a twenty dollar bill in the elevator, along with a single penny, head's up. And the inevitable dead body hadn't showed up first thing, when the team barely got their "good mornings" in before being thrust head-long into other people's business. Instead, it had waited until almost ten o'clock, giving Tony time to get through the massive amounts of paperwork/e-mails that he'd carefully, purposefully forgotten about.

And then, when the dead body did come, Gibbs had sent him and McGee to canvass the house and nab the computer, which was far more pleasant than looking at somebody's life on paper.

If only there wasn't that _snake_. "Seriously, McGee, do you even know what you're doing? That thing could swallow your hand."

"That's pythons, Tony, and are you actually admitting your worried about me?" McGee flashed a smile at Tony, hand still inching closer to the snake, which hadn't moved since they'd entered the house.

"I saw _Anaconda_ when I was eleven, McGeek, so cut me some slack." Tony should be looking for anything that might tell them who Ted Murphey – the latest dead petty officer – was, but he couldn't stop watching as his co-worker slid his hand closer to the reptile, making sure to move in slow, steady movements. "It's like a car accident. You just want to look away but you can't."

"Told you it was easy." McGee flashed Tony another look, this one triumphant, as his hand closed around the flash drive.

That's when the snake's head flashed, and inch-long fangs sunk into McGee's wrist.

"Woah!" Tony said, stiffening, hand going automatically for his sidearm though he didn't know what he was going to shoot. The snake? McGee, for sticking his hand into the snake's space?

For his part, McGee didn't make any noise, just lifted his hand out of the tank just as slowly as he'd put it in. Once it was fully removed, he pocketed the miniature storage drive and examined the gouges in his wrist, which probably wouldn't have been bleeding so profusely if the snake hadn't bit exactly on top of an artery. "Ouch."

He looked away from the wound, because if he kept staring he probably would scream. Instead, he tucked his hand up under his armpit and cocked his head at Tony, who still had his gun out. "So did you get the computer?"

"I'm getting you a band-aid." Tony muttered, rummaging around in the drawers. "Or at least a towel…Geeze, McGee, what were you trying to prove?"

"I was a Boy Scout for nine years, Tony, I know how to tell snakes apart." And trees, and moss, and mushrooms. It was probably how he passed ninety percent of his outdoor training courses. "And he didn't mean to bite me, he was just…defending his territory."

Tony snorted, though his round eyes and pursed lips gave McGee the impression that the senior agent was more concerned about the bite than he was letting on. "I'm finding you some bandages." Tony stared at McGee's crossed arms and, though McGee was certain that he couldn't see the stain blooming out under his shirt, the other man's face softened slightly, "Make sure you keep pressure on it, 'kay?"

McGee sighed, put the cover back on the terrarium (doing it one handed made it seem much louder), and was just looking for a computer to go along with the flash drive when he heard the commotion.

"Hey – Woah! Hold up!" There was a crack, which McGee, from his years at NCIS, could identify all-too-well as the sound of a skull hitting a hard surface, like a sink, like the floor.

And, really, he probably wouldn't have been as worried if it wasn't Tony calling out, Tony's head undoubtedly hitting the floor.

The laptop was forgotten, the terrarium was forgotten, even his hand, now throbbing steadily to the beat of his heart, was forgotten as he thrust it down his side, scrambling for his gun even as he pressed his back against the wall, sidled quickly down the hall, arm stiff, gun down.

Which suddenly reminded him: the first time he'd shot a gun was in Boy Scouts, too.

There was another shout, and a groan, and before McGee could even get to the door of the bathroom Tony emerged, an arm around his torso black and muscular, definitely not belonging to the Italian-American.

McGee would have been concerned about the blood dripping into Tony's eyes, and the red welt on his head that would bruise if it wasn't for the person following close behind his friend, one hand holding Tony tight to him, a human shield, the other bearing the agent's gun.

Damn.

"Geeze, McGee." Tony's eyes, to his credit (or perhaps it was just a testament to just how many concussions the agent had sustained) were just slightly unfocused as he stared at McGee, easy smirk firmly in place, "I could've sworn you said you cleared the house before you started playing Snake Man."

But the smile didn't fool anyone. Right at that moment, Tony realized it was going to be just another one of those days.

*******

**We've been wanting to write an NCIS story for months now, and with three of our other stories magically wrapping up at the same time, it seemed like the right time to do it. This is just hte prologue, so all characters will eventually get their limelight, and the nasty villian will become way nastier before the end.**

**Anyways, please review.**


	2. In Which The Suspect Gets Away

_At the moment, they knew nothing of the troubles ahead of them, only of the troubles behind them, and the troubles that had escaped out the window. **Lemony Snicket**_

"Put the gun down!" The man who had a tight grip on Tony seemed comfortable holding the gun, comfortable, even, with staring one down.

McGee glanced at Tony, who nodded almost imperceptibly. McGee uncurled his fingers, holding the gun between his thumb and pointer and thrusting his hands in the air. "Okay, fine." He let the gun go and it landed with a clatter at his feet. Tony winced slightly at the noise, the concussion making the sound a hundred times louder.

"Where's Murphey?" The man demanded, his gun pointed at McGee even as his grip on Tony tightened. When neither one answered, he said, louder, "Where is he?"

"He's dead." Tony managed, the arm around his neck choking him. "Found this morning. You the roommate? Or partner? Or maybe the boyfriend?"

"Tony." McGee snapped, watching, wide-eyed, as the gun got pointed at his friend's head. "Hey!" And, finally, that whistle that Abby had been trying to teach him for three months finally came out, causing the man's head to snap back to McGee. "Why don't you let him go and we'll tell you about your friend. You want to know what happened to him?"

The man's face hardened and his grip on the gun, firm and steady until then, wavered. But he did point it back at McGee, which was his intent all along. "No."

Several things happened at once, beginning with Tony being a general idiot. He arched his back, jabbing his elbows into his captor's stomach and trying to turn, but he wasn't quick enough.

McGee lunged for his gun as soon as he saw Tony go into action, because if this was going downhill he didn't want their assailant to be the only one armed.

And the man who'd been lying in wait in the house let go of Tony, took his hard, practiced jab that had nailed a hundred criminals on Tony's Baltimore beat without flinching. Then he delivered a stunning blow of his own, hitting Tony hard in the ribs and knocking him back against the wall. As he ran out the door he shot of rounds at random, because he knew that that other agent behind him would be doing the same thing.

All those actions took place in less than nine seconds.

Tony sagged against the wall, dazed, then let out a groan. "Well, that could have gone better." He propped himself up on one arm, using the other to balance himself against the wall because at the moment gravity was working overtime to try to bring him down. "Probie?"

The room was now officially a wreck. A chair and a flimsy table had both been knocked out of the way by their assailant, who was now long gone. Already Tony was pulling his cell phone out of his pocket, still looking around the room. He was not looking forward to telling Gibbs what had happened.

But even as he pressed the phone against his ear he knew something was wrong. McGee would probably be talking by now – it seemed that the guy never stopped talking, especially when they were in trouble. He should have been blaming Tony, or poking fun at the fact that the Senior Agent had to prop himself against the wall just to stand.

"Probie?"

McGee groaned and forced his head up, a grimace spreading across his features. "Here, Tony." He managed to shake one of his legs and Tony rushed over, moving the chair off the more inexperienced agent.

"Oh, McGee." All the teasing that was usually so prevalent in Tony's nature was dropped as he watched the blood spread quickly across his partner's torso. "Where?"

"Shoulder, I think." McGee gritted his teeth through the waves of pain that threatened to overtake his body. "Right at the joint."

"Of course." Tony said, then changed his tone as the phone stopped ringing. "Boss? The house wasn't empty…no, he got the jump on us. Long story…listen, you need to send an ambulance over stat." He didn't elaborate, couldn't, because the blood on McGee was threatening to overtake his vision. So he just snapped the phone shut and pressed both hands against the bleeding arm.

"What about the snake bite?" Tony said, removing McGee's shirt to get closer to the wound.

"Thought you were going to get a Band-Aid." McGee hissed, back arching slightly against the pain in his arm. "You seemed to have gotten distracted."

"Hey, you were supposed to check the bathroom." And perhaps it would become a formal reprimand later, or at least a good dressing down, but right now Tony's voice was gentle, with just a hint of admonishment at the oversight of procedures. "I always look behind the curtains myself, but I think it's just because I saw _Psycho_ one too many times."

"You see every movie one too many times." McGee bit out, watching warily as Tony swabbed his cut. "Shouldn't you be out looking for that guy?"

Tony glanced out the door and blew out a breath, because he really did hate letting suspects get away. "Thought you were dead, McGeek, and the Boss would have had my head if it wasn't the Senior Agent dying on the job. By the time I realized that your heart was, in fact, still beating, he was already out of sight."

McGee snorted, because he knew for a fact that Tony hadn't checked to make sure anybody was out of sight, but then he relaxed, submitting totally to the other man's ministrations. "Thanks, Tony."

"Don't mention it, Probie." He had already torn off McGee's sleeve to get to the cuts, the bullet wound and snake bite, but now he had to use the discarded fabric as a bandage, wrapping it around the twin fang puncture wounds, leaving his hands free to press, hard, against the younger agent's shoulder. "You know, this reminds me of a movie…"

"Of course it does." McGee pretended to roll his eyes, secretly glad of any distraction from the pain in his arm. When Tony didn't expand, McGee looked at him, "What movie, DiNozzo?" This through teeth gritted with pain. Leave it to Tony to not make a movie reference just as it was, impossibly, needed.

The door flew open, answering McGee's question. "Report, DiNozzo!" Gibbs barked from the doorway, crossing the room in four large strides. He touched Tony's arm first, though later he would deny that he was ascertaining the well-being of his favorite agent, then whacked the man on the back of the head.

"Concussion, Boss." This, surprisingly, from McGee, who looked white enough to pass out.

"Yeah, concussion, Boss." But, of course, in Tony's mouth the words came out incredibly cheeky, earning him another head slap, though even McGee could tell that this one had much less force than before.

"Oh, Timothy." Ducky knelt next to McGee, examining his arm, "How long has it been bleeding?"

"Four minutes." Said Tony, feigning nonchalance while looking on anxiously, "What, you didn't trust the EMTs?"

"With Jethro driving, I believe we were faster. And your descriptions of injuries leaves something to be desired, Anthony. Without knowing the severity of the wounds, and keeping in mind your distaste of hospitals, I thought my services were in order."

Gibbs was getting impatient, with two men wounded and no explanation. "Report, DiNozzo!"

"Right, Boss." Tony took a deep breath, trying to stop the room from spinning. It mostly worked, enough for him to straighten up and stare at Gibbs (he was guessing the middle one was right). "The house had no sign of any suspects when we got here. McGee proclaimed the computer unsalvageable --"

"I said there was a…self-destructing virus…probably put there by Petty Officer Murphey…" He wavered unsteadily, disoriented by blood loss and the throbbing agony of his arm until Ducky unstoppered a syringe of something that made the pain weaken to a dull ache.

"It was all very McGeeky." Tony summed up, flashing his Probie a swift concerned look while leaning against the wall, seemingly appearing relaxed but actually trying desperately to swallow back the waves of nausea he recognized as concussion markers. "Other than that, there was no mail, no personal effects of any kind. It seems like the cabin came furnished and he only started renting it recently."

"According to Ziva he's lived here for eighteen months." Gibbs contradicted, though he had to agree with Tony's conclusion. There was little in the way of mementos, with the obvious exception of the snake. Most of the surfaces that hadn't been turned over in the scuffle were clear from the clutter that usually amasses around daily life. "So why wasn't he spending much time at home? Where was he going?"

"I believe, Jethro, that's what your investigation is going to reveal." This from Ducky, his face pinched in concern over the second wounded shoulder he'd seen in a co-worker since coming to NCIS. And he'd thought it would be a _safe _job…

There was the screech of vehicles outside, as local law enforcement rolled in, minutes late as always. Gibbs sighed heavily but plastered on a look of easy confidence, wrapping his arm around Tony's shoulder in a manner that may or may not have been to help him stand up straight.

For the NCIS team, at that moment, there was nothing left to do but wait, because eventually all the evidence lead them to the scene of the crime. But the future NCIS team, looking back at that moment, would be hitting themselves, because, knowing the level of sheer…monstrosity…just around the corner, would have given the following advice:

Hurry up, run, because if you don't, kids are going to die, and you might just be able to save them this time around.

***

**There's a cute little something between Tony and McGee. Like squabbling brothers. Anyway, most of this story is about them, because they're too cute to leave alone.**

**Reaview?**


	3. In Which There Are Hospitals

_"If I were to be made a knight," said the Wart, staring dreamily into the fire, "I should…pray to God to let me encounter all the evil in the world in my own person, so that if I conquered there would be none left, and, if I were defeated, I would be the one to suffer for it." _

_"That would be extremely presumptuous of you," said Merlin, "and you would be conquered, and you would suffer for it." **T. H White**_

_.***._

"Well, McGoogle, it seems like you've gotten us into yet another mess." Tony smiled, mostly masking the wince of pain he couldn't help but show when he lowered himself into the chair next to McGee's hospital bed. It was late, after midnight, after McGee's wild ambulance ride and surgery, after Tony's partner had gone into shock from blood loss, after he'd seized on the operating table.

_Stable_, according to the MDs, though Tony wasn't sure if he'd ever seen anything less stable in his life. They even said something about releasing him in the late afternoon, after they had the night to observe him.

"You know," Tony said, propping his legs up on the bed, trying not to think that this was his Probie's bed, that his Probie was lying there, whiter than the bed sheets, "You know," he started again, "If that flash drive hadn't had any files on it, I would have brought you up on report. For sticking your hand into a place inhabited by a snake. And for not clearing the house properly….you're not FBI, Probie, we're better than that."

McGee didn't say anything, which the doctor said was normal, which Ducky had confirmed as normal, but Tony wasn't sure he believed. "But Abby did that geeky thing you do, and she got some stuff off it…wanna hear? It's pretty juicy…"

The truth was, Tony had been shaking with rage at the sight of the files, sent via cell phone to the hospital, to Gibbs and Tony, waiting anxiously while McGee suffered through hours of surgery.

"The data was hidden, Gibbs, on a shadow file. Everything on the drive was pretty ordinary: spread sheets for tax returns, old e-mails…but I thought we should dig deeper." Both Gibbs and Tony had watched as Abby swallowed hard, both knowing that she'd been keeping herself busy, doing everything possible not to run over to the hospital to check on McGee.

"What'd you find, Abs?"

Abby made a face of disgust, of pure sorrow, "Just…well, look at it."

And they had. And the images had made Gibbs growl deep in his throat, a primal sort of rage that words couldn't describe. It made Tony look away, feeling his stomach clench and his heart break at the sight of the young boys, maybe eleven, maybe twelve, the young boys and the older men who were _using_ them.

And then, the clincher, like the last few words before the television show clicks off for the week, the cliffhanger that always made Tony ache for more, "Gibbs, I think the Petty Officer was the one running this…place."

Abby's face came back on over the video, thank god, drawn and harried and looking somehow older than before. "Now can I visit McGee?"

It was an investigation that warranted, needed all hands on deck. An investigation that would attract media attention nationwide. An investigation that was going slow, too slow, because Tony still had triple vision from his second-grade concussion and McGee was…Tony's Probie was…

"At least you got us on the right track, McNatureBoy, or else we'd've been running in circles for a while." Tony yawned hugely, the adrenaline, the sheer emotion of the day catching up to him. But he couldn't go to sleep, not yet. He slipped his hand into Tim's, curled his fingers around the lifeless appendage, leaned close,

"Promise you'll respect me in the morning, Probie?" Tony said, managing a small smile before falling into a well-deserved slumber.

.***.

The first time Abby needed to drive to Bethesda hospital, she had to ask for directions. The second time, she plugged the address into her cell phone and let it tell her the way. By now…and this visit number was somewhere in the teens, if not the twenties…well, the nurses knew her by name, asked after her bowling team, and were used to be being driven from their night-shift half-slumber by her roaring in bearing gossip and bagels and comfort at six o'clock in the morning.

"Room 218, honey. And the dark haired scoundrel hasn't left his room all night." This from an older, motherly-looking nurse in pink scrubs, nodding in the direction of the right hallway, "He's had all of your lot come around, though, more visitors to an unconscious man I'll never see…."

Abby blew kisses in thanks, bounding away in the correct direction, careful not to let her bag and her present fall under the scrutinizing eyes of the hospital staff. She lingered for just a moment at the window of McGee's bedroom, wishing she had some sort of camera, because the picture was just _oh so cute_ and could be used as _excellent_ black mail.

Tony had apparently used all of his considerable charm on the female nurses to stay in McGee's room, and was now asleep in a chair beside his partner's bed, one hand slipped into McGee's limp good arm, the upper part of his body folded over so that his head was resting on McGee's chest.

"Aww…" Abby said as she walked in, startling Tony out of his slumber. "You guys are _soo_ cute."

Tony blinked at her, then jerked himself upright, pulling his hand away from McGee and pushing it self-consciously into his hair, "Oh, hey Abs…isn't it early?"

"I was so worried! I couldn't get here last night because of that awful video and then Gibbs said that the hospital said that I couldn't visit McGee at two o'clock in the morning, so I waited as long as I could!"

Tony glanced at his watch, then back up at the lab techie, "Six am was the longest you could wait?" He asked incredulously.

"Tony, this is our McGee we're talking about! He was shot!"

"I was there, Abs." Tony assured, "But he'll be okay. Some physical therapy and desk work for a few weeks…and as many fake snakes as I can smuggle into NCIS."

Abby smiled brightly, extracting the present she brought from her bag. "Do you think they'll let him stay? He's harmless…" Abby plopped the small terrarium with its twelve inch garner snake on the small table next to McGee's bed. "How big was the one that bit McGee?"

"Bigger than that." Tony said, leaning back slightly in his chair. "Abby, I don't know how much he'll like…"

"I love it," came the soft, sleepy voice from the bed, and McGee smiled at Abby, careful not to let the pain he felt show on his features, "Thanks, Abby."

The cool bubbly façade Abby had worn since the phone call about two of her favorite boys had come in crumbled and she leaned forward, careful not to touch McGee's hurt shoulder when she hugged him, "I was so worried…"

"I'm fine." McGee broke the contact first, his eyes darting over to meet his partner's, "You okay, Tony?"

"No thanks to you, McProbester. You seriously paid no attention to the man behind the curtain?" But Tony couldn't let too much reprimand drip into his voice. Because McGee was stuck in a bed, hurting, with a hole in his shoulder, and he was looking absolutely mortified at the thought that his mistake had gotten Tony the stark white butterfly bandage on his temple.

"I know, Tony, I…didn't expect there to be anyone. Why would there be anyone? It was the dead guy's house. Cursory check." He shook his head, willing himself to focus, to steady. "What about the flash drive? There had to be something useful on it." McGee hoped so, flashing a look down at the double puncture wounds on his wrist, which weren't venomous (he'd known that) but had stuck a particularly sensitive area. Only time would tell if they'd hit nerves (he hadn't known that).

Abby sucked in a breath and darted a glance over at Tony, one that clearly said _oh, don't make me say this again_. Since getting the call that McGee and Tony (was it always those two knuckleheads?) had landed themselves in the hospital, again, Abby hadn't had time to pull herself away from the lab and _that video_ to see her boys, because this was officially a time-sensitive case.

"It had…videos on it, McGee." There were few times that found Tony unsmiling, fewer still that found him not using a McNickname. "Kids. All boys as far as we can tell…with men."

"Gibbs is thinking some kind of captivity." Abby contributed sadly. "Ziva's looking through Murphey's contacts, because he was definitely one of the ring-leaders, but these kids are being kept somewhere and…sold every night to the highest bidder."

McGee's face twisted with uncharacteristic disgust and righteous anger. "Can you get a match on any of the faces?"

"I started running the program before I left, but the kids all came up negative. They weren't in any missing persons databases. There's only partials of all the men's faces – the camera work was pretty shoddy – but I managed to reconstruct some…" she paused for a yawn, rather than effect, "faces from different clips."

"And I bet it took you all night." McGee observed, smiling just a little at the yawn. "Get some sleep, Abs. Tony and I are fine."

"I'm always fine." Tony said, almost reflexively, but at least teasing the semblance of a grin out of the lab tech.

"Maybe I'll crash on my lab floor until Gibbs wakes me up with his questions." Abby stood up, tapping the snake's cage as she went and wagging a finger in the boy's directions. "You have to name him before I see you again, okay?" They both nodded mutely, used to Abby's strange demands after so many years of working with her. "And I'm glad you're okay." She pecked McGee once on the cheek before heading towards the door.

"What about me? I was in danger, too!"

"You bumped your head! I'll kiss you when you get a real injury."

Tony rolled his eyes and slumped back in his chair like an insolent child. "They're releasing you this afternoon."

"How'd you know I was going to ask that?" The surprise in McGee's voice was genuine.

"I know everything, Probie-Wan. One of us has to be in touch with the Force." He appraised his partner carefully. "Gibbs will never clear you for field duty, though."

"I don't have to be out in the field." McGee said, his voice low. "Tony…we have to find those kids."

Tony could be serious when he wanted to be. He knew that this case hit home for all of the people involved because of the level of…perversion that it had, and the emotion always brought about by the abuse of kids that they found too often in their line of work. "I know, McGee. We will."

**And they will. They just have to go through hell first, because that's how we roll.**

**Anyways, please review.**


	4. In Which No One Stays Put

_What was Right? What was Wrong? What distinguished Doing from Not Doing? If I were to have my time again, the old King thought, I would bury myself in a monastery for fear of a Doing which might lead to woe. **T. H. White**_

_.***._

"Ugh! You are _so_ frustrating!" Abby hit McGee with the back of her hand and shook a finger at him, quite serious, "No backseat typing!"

"I'm not!" McGee protested, and Tony snorted from his own desk. "I'm not!" This time his voice was a decibel higher, "I'm just _suggesting_ some searches you can try."

"We already have the car, McGoogle, no thanks to your fancy searches." Tony's voice was strained, his tone snappish. Abby had been at McGee's desk since early morning, making sure he didn't try to flounce doctor's orders and use his sling-and-bandage-bound arm, and the two had been making his headache worse with their constant banter.

"Aww…" Abby glanced at him from over the computer. "I think someone is upset that they weren't invited out to play."

Tony harrumphed. He was just _itching _for field work. "It makes sense for Probie to work the desks. He got _shot_. I was, like, _scratched _in the line of duty."

"And you'll be in the field next week, Tony, count your blessings." McGee had little pity for the other man, not when his own prognosis was for three weeks of intense physical therapy before field duty was even discussed.

Tony scrunched further down in his chair. "I just don't see why Gibbs left me here with you two…we need to find these kids."

"We will, Tony, but once we find them where will they go? McGee and I have been through every missing persons database three times and there are no hits – and there are some pretty clear pictures of these kids faces." Abby poked the hand that was creeping near the keyboard with one sharp fingernail. "Aren't you supposed to be an invalid?"

McGee leaned back and let out a long sigh, feeling completely useless, not even able to follow up on a hunch on his own. "I was just thinking that maybe the kids were homeless. If they were on the street, it would be easy for them to be picked up by Murphey and whatever cronies he had in on the whole thing."

"And no one would have put out a missing persons report, because no one would have noticed they were missing." Tony was nodding, stopping in his work with a hand pressed to his head. He'd suffered concussions before and he probably would again, but that didn't make the throbbing headaches accompanying them any worse.

"Hey," The trio looked up as Jimmy Palmer hurried in, still wearing blue autopsy scrubs. "What'cha doing up here Abby?"

"Apparently barking up the wrong tree." Abby got up, "Evidence from the dead guy?"

"Fingernails, and maybe a partial fingerprint." Palmer handed the package of evidence over, blushing as he detailed their findings. He'd been the one to spot the fingerprint, mostly hidden in a mottled bruise on the side of the victim's neck.

Abby moved towards the elevator, turning around to blow a quick kiss at McGee, "Feel better, boys!"

McGee pulled his chair up to the computer, trying to manipulate his left arm so that it rested comfortably on the computer. "Should you be working McGee? Weren't you just shot, like, two days ago?"

"It's an important case, Palmer, and it's not like I'm doing cartwheels over here." His voice belayed his frustration at his injury and he winced when the slightest movement sent shooting pains up his arm. When next he looked up, the ME's assistant had disappeared, leaving a small bottle of low-level pain killers on McGee's desk. The gesture made the field agent smile a little bit as he attempted to negotiate the computer one-handed.

Tony got off the phone, which he'd been working all day. "I got us a new lead."

"Great," McGee said, and meant it. The whole idea of this case was making him sick – a navy officer who ran a whorehouse? Who would sell off boys every night? The quicker they wrapped this up, the sooner NCIS would breathe easy.

Tony put an image up on the screen, "Jim Sherman, twenty-seven, navy lieutenant. From all accounts he and our dead Murphey were tight." He smirked at McGee, "And doesn't he just look familiar?"

"Yeah," McGee said hoarsely, staring at the face of the person who'd shot him two days before.

"I put a BOLO out on him and an APB for his car, but guess what?" Tony was insufferable when he stumbled on a lead first, he was nearly bouncing out of his chair, "He lives in an apartment two streets down from Murphey, but also owns a plot of land in Virginia."

"Any buildings?" McGee asked, interest piqued.

Here Tony stopped moving, letting loose a shit-eating grin he always wore when he broke a case, "Not according to the official reports, but Google Earth tells a different story."

Even McGee had to smile a little at the thought of such a simple program giving them a lead. "Call Gibbs."

"But I want to check it out." Tony whined, "Can't we just -"

"No. I can't even carry a gun, Tony, and I'm not following you into another supposedly abandoned building." He jabbed his good hand in Tony's direction. "Call. Gibbs."

Tony was already on the phone, planning out how exactly to wheedle his boss into letting him do _something_ other than sit behind a desk. "Hey, boss, we found out the name of the guy who shot McGee, he owns property in Arlington."

"Get one of the other teams to check it out." Gibbs' voice was laced with frustration. "We're stuck in at least two hours of traffic. There was some kind of pile-up."

"Did Ziva cause it?" Tony asked, jerking the phone away from his ear as the Mossad agent protested.

"We can't wait on this one, DiNozzo, I won't leave those kids there for another night." Gibbs hung up, leaving Tony staring at the phone.

"C'mon, McGoogle."

"What – Tony, no, we can't check out the house." McGee was standing up, though, because some part of him knew that Tony always got his way. "You can barely stand up straight and neither of us have been cleared for field duty."

"We're not going inside, McGee, we're just going to make sure those kids aren't being chained to the wall." Tony was already out the door. "Then we'll call for backup." Then, because it seemed like McGee would need more coaxing than that, he said, gently, "these are little boys, McGee. Do you really want them to have another night wherever they are?"

"Of course not." McGee said, using his good arm to lever himself to his feet. "Let's go."

**Review?**

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	5. In Which Floors Aren't Stable

_Sometimes, the things that may or may not be true are the things a man needs to believe most. That people are basically good; that honor, dignity, and courage mean everything and money and power, power and money mean nothing; that good always triumphs over evil... Remember that. It doesn't' matter if it's true or not. You see, a man should believe in these things, because those are the things worth believing in. **Secondhand Lions**_

_.***._

There was a house on the property. One story, sprawling in a way that could never have been built by any sober contractor, it was imposing even from the outside.

"There's only one entrance." Tony observed, eyeing the house with no small amount of excitement. "Should be easy enough to canvass."

"We're not going in, Tony. The guy who owns it cracked your head open two days ago."

"There's no cars." Tony pointed out, already opening the car door. "And look how many rooms that place has! That's a ton of places to hide these kids."

"A ton of places to hide, period. Seriously, Tony, are you forgetting the last time we walked into an uncleared house?" But McGee got out of the car, too, struggling a bit more with his cumbersome sling and pained shoulder. He'd known from the beginning that Tony could never just sit and wait in the car. It wasn't in his nature to let things pass him by, especially if he was there first. To Tony, doctors' orders didn't matter as much as humans.

"You're going in first." McGee grumbled, letting Tony get a few steps ahead of him as they neared the doorway.

"Whatever, McKilljoy." Because Tony at least could grip a gun, even if he wasn't quite up to his usual degree of marksmanship. He threw open the door after announcing that they were coming in (they had to do some things by the book), only to find a deserted foyer.

"At least there's no surprises." Tony said, quickly checking the other rooms. "Ugh, this is _so_ gross." But he said it in a way that was sincere, heartfelt, and a little angry.

The rooms were all bedrooms, or at least equipped with a bed. Tony checked in closets, under bed sheets, behind every curtain, just to make sure. There was no sign of life anywhere.

"They're not here." He couldn't have sounded more upset, trotting back to the foyer where McGee stood, arm cocked at its curious angle, staring at a point on the wall. He whistled to get his friend's attention.

"I heard you, Tony." McGee tore his eyes away from the wall, which just didn't look quite _right_, "This is definitely the place where our officers conducted their…business." He went back to staring at the wall. "We have to get back to NCIS, tell Gibbs and Vance. We can get a sting together…maybe even for tonight."

"I don't want there to be a tonight, Probie." Tony said, his voice relating his frustration at the whole situation. "These kids don't deserve to be treated like that again."

"I don't know how much more we can do, Tony." McGee said, not unsympathetically.

Tony sighed, running a stray hand through his hair. He'd been hoping for some sign, some break in the case, because, like everyone else at NCIS, anything involving children just hit him where it hurt. It was sad enough when adults were the victims of the crimes they investigated on a daily basis, but at least they'd had some sort of life to live…

And then there was that dark cloud, because assuming they found the kids, assuming everything turned out in the best case scenario, if the boys were, as McGee and Abby thought, homeless, then they're nightmare would never truly be over. Tony had been a cop and an agent long enough to know that America's system was flawed, that kids tended to fall through the cracks, that usually the victims of circumstance would eventually grow to become the perpetrators of the crimes the agency came across so frequently.

Here was a case, though, where the media might help. So far, NCIS had done a good job of keeping the media away from the case, but once the kids were found (and Tony had to believe that they would be found) it would be impossible to keep the vultures of the news at bay. And hopefully some spotlight on the kids would do something positive: There were good people in the world. Tony had met many of them in him life. And the reason he continued to believe in what he did was because he knew that there were good people in the world, kind people, and he hoped that it would be these reliable few who would take pity on the kids…

But, of course, they had to find them first.

"Let's go." Tony said, moving to holster his weapon as he turned his back on McGee, only for a second.

McGee started forward, oblivious of the ominous _creak_ his first step produced. Perhaps the structure was made of shoddier material than they'd first supposed, because with the second step there was the definite sound of breaking wood.

Tony whipped around when McGee's cry of surprise was cut short. "McGee!" He found himself staring at hole in the floor and ran over to it, listening carefully for further groans of protest from the structure.

McGee was on his side, bent in a strange way. The hole only allowed a minimum of light to shine through, but Tony was sure he saw blood on McGee's head. _Oh, Probie…._

He was about to call down again, hoping, praying for an answer this time. "Who is that?" Came was a quiet voice from the darkness, young and scared and definitely male.

"Shhh…"

"Is he dead?" A young boy appeared in the shaft of light, maybe eight or nine, blond hair dusty, dirty as he knelt next to McGee. He wrapped his arms clumsily around McGee's neck, messily checking for a pulse.

"Bobby, get back here." The same voice that had shushed the boy earlier. Tony had an impression of an older boy, twelve, thirteen, running in to snatch the blond away from McGee's prone body.

"Hey," Tony said, keeping his voice gentle, low, unable to quite believe what he was seeing. Still, despite his tone, the boys jumped as if they'd been hit, then darted back out of the light. "It's okay. I won't hurt you."

"Who is that?" Another voice.

"Jay, I'm scared." Yet another, this one impossibly young. "That man has a gun." At that, Tony holstered his weapon, putting up his hands in a show of surrender and, he hoped, peace.

"The man is injured." This voice was accented, African. Tony couldn't narrow it down any more than that.

"Did that guy push him? Was he being bad?" Tony began to wonder exactly how many boys were down there.

"I don't think so, kiddo. Look at their hats, they say the same thing. I think they're friends." This voice was older, soothing, a mediator.

Tony decided that now would be as good a time as any to speak up. "My name is Tony. That's my friend…" Did he really almost call him Probie? "Tim."

There was a moment of silence, then a tentative voice, one of the older boys, "I think your friend needs a doctor, sir. He's breathing, but he hasn't moved." Another pause, then, "And some of these kids could use a doctor, too."

"Is he going to get us out?"

"He's a cop, Jay, we shouldn't trust him."

"Does this mean we don't have to do Nights anymore?"

Then again, the "shh…." And there was silence.

Tony took one last look at McGee's body. It was still, too still, and he hadn't shown any signs of moving. "Sorry, Probie." He murmured, aware that he had been the one to drag McGee away from his desk and pain meds, that he had been the one to lead the man into a structurally unsound building.

He stood up, moved away from the hole. He heard a single voice call out, "Where's he going? Is he leaving?" There was an edge of desperation, making Tony come back.

"I'm calling my boss. We're going to get you out of here." Tony smiled tightly, "I'm not going anywhere."

He fumbled for his phone. It took him two tries to extract it from his pocket, his hands were shaking so bad. "Boss? We found them."

**Do the bad guys get their just desserts? Does it matter? We deal with the victims in our stories, and trust Gibbs and Ziva to take care of the criminals. For the rest of the story, we'll be seeing a lot of these poor boys, but almost nothing of their captors, savvy?**

**And, despite all that, if you're an action fan, or because of it, because you like mushy character stories, please review.**


	6. In Which There is a Waiting Game

_Look (Grown-ups skip this paragraph) I'm not about to tell you this book has a tragic ending. I already said in the very first line how this story was my favorite in all the world. But there's a lot of bad stuff coming. **The Princess Bride**_

_.***._

They were young. A few quiet questions, and Tony realized that the piece of wall McGee couldn't stop staring at doubled as a door. As soon as he opened it he heard the swift pattering of bare feet on packed dirt, but no one came up to him. In fact, they all ran in the opposite direction.

There were six of them, all boys, all with thin, tired, scared faces. They were dirty, but not overly so, with chapped lips and big eyes that followed Tony as he knelt next to McGee. "Hey, Probie, if Gibbs finds you sleeping on the job he'll have my head."

"Mmm." The strangled noise was cut off by a gasp of pain, and frightened eyes opened only to point in the direction of McGee's mangled arm, now definitely dislocated.

"Oh." Tony knew how to pop a joint back in place, of course he did, but with McGee's other injuries, not the least of which being the hole in his shoulder, he didn't know how to do it without causing his friend unnecessary pain. "Hang tight, McClumsy. Your fall found us the kids."

"Really?" Tony could see McGee work to push the pain to the back of his mind, a struggle that wasn't easily won. With his good hand, McGee pressed his sleeve against a cut that was dripping blood into his eyes, peering at the darkness.

One of the younger ones shifted slightly, "I'm scared."

"It's okay." Tony soothed, "We're the good guys, we're going to get you out of here." He moved forward, arms outstretched, open in peace. He didn't miss the fact that the boys rearranged themselves. Two of the bigger ones moved to the front, bodies tense and wary, protecting the others.

"We're just going to wait here until the ambulance comes, because I don't want you guys getting hurt going up the stairs." This was nothing but the truth, since several of the boys had bad bruises, visible through rags so skimpy they almost didn't constitute as clothes anymore, and probably other injuries besides that would make walking painful, if not impossible. At the voice of worry the older boys smiled grimly, as if they'd been hurt by much worse things than a flight of stairs.

Tony kept on his knees, not wanting to scare the boys by standing upright. Already he was wishing for Abby, Ziva, anyone who didn't have a Y chromosome like him and the bastards who'd been raping these kids. He tried to think of something to say to stop this standoff between them. All the questions that now needed answers seemed too intrusive, too personal for a first-time meeting, and, anyway, needed to be asked formally in order for anything to stick.

So he turned his attention to McGee, happy for the distraction. "How many fingers am I holding up, Probie?"

"Why should I care?"

"It's a concussion test."

"It's stupid, Tony, I'm awake and my shoulder's killing me, I'm not counting your fingers."

"I can pop that shoulder back in."

"Come near me and I'll…"

"What? Bite me?" Because McGee was absolutely refusing to take his hand away from his hurt arm, clutching it as one does any cut, an automatic response to put pressure on a wound.

Their conversation, or perhaps the fact that they weren't pressuring the boys to do anything they didn't want to, made the children…not relax, not exactly, but they spread out, dropped a part of their guard. One of the younger boys even giggled before clapping a hand over his mouth.

McGee brushed Tony's hand away from his shoulder and looked directly at the blond boy. "What's your name?" His voice, impossibly gentle, automatically kind in the presence of the frightened kids, was something that Tony could never duplicate.

"We should wait for the LEOs to take their statements, McHasty." Tony said quietly, smiling to show that he meant no harm.

"I'm just trying to talk to them, Tony."

One of the older ones stepped forward, his hands trailing behind him as if to keep the kids at bay, to gather them behind him so that the two agents wouldn't get any funny ideas. "I'm Jason. Jay." His voice wobbled with barely-controlled fear. "This is Bobby." Under his arm was the blond boy, obviously the youngest of the six, "Jordan. Adam. Charlie. Don." Each boy nodded at their name, faces wide and open with fear and…excitement. "Can we leave?"

McGee and Tony exchanged looks. "It's more complicated than that." McGee said, still low, gentle, "We've been looking for you guys, but we also need to make sure that all the people who hurt you are punished. We're just going to hang tight until the ambulance comes." _And Gibbs_ he added silently, because this is one of the situations that they hadn't covered in the police academy. What was the SOP when there were six abused kids who just wanted out? And how can you be sure to get all of their attackers if you didn't organize a sting? And how could you justify a sting when you were hurting children?

It was a strange, vicious cycle that Tony, with his worry for McGee, his worry for the kids, his surprise over the situation they'd literally fallen into, couldn't puzzle his way out of. He was practical. He was hands-on. Rules and regulations couldn't matter in his mind, which is how they'd gotten here in the first place.

So he plunged a hand into his pocket and held the prize out. "Are you hungry?" Years of working under Gibbs and eating on the fly had taught him the importance of a Hershey bar kept in the coat pocket.

As soon as the words came out, Tony wished he'd started with them. Eyes lit up as the chocolate was produced. Jay tentatively took the proffered coat and draped it over Bobby, who was shivering in the chilly November air. "Slowly," McGee warned from his strange, half-doubled over position on the floor, watching the hungry faces with a mixture of sorrow and pity competing with pain for face room, "Their bodies probably aren't used to food."

"I know that, McNag, that's why there's little bitty squares." He broke off a piece, wishing he could shove the whole bar at the hungry kids. Murmurs of 'thank you' and the boys retreated again, still slightly wary of the male agents, though obviously not as downright terrified as they had been at first greetings.

The quick glance he'd gotten of all the boys under the light streaming though the hole told him a sad tale. None of them were older than Jay, who himself looked no older than thirteen. All were slim, with long, wiry limbs and mussed hair, but even Tony had to admit that as far as kids went, they were pretty damn cute. _Is that why they were snatched?_

Again, they were left in silence, with Tony out of things to say. Again, he knelt next to McGee, who's last comment had drifted into a weary hush. "Well, Probie, you'll never be known for landing on your feet." He touched McGee's hand, wanting to move it to see how bad the shoulder was, and was surprised to find the skin cold and clammy. Usually when he got hurt he started to sweat uncontrollably. McGee's skin felt like he was going in to shock, which didn't make sense since he'd just popped out his shoulder.

"McGoo, are you hurt anywhere else?" McGee's eyes were glassy and they locked onto Tony's face like a drowning man to a ship, but he didn't say anything, didn't look like he _could_ say anything. Tony made his voice low, as gravely as Gibbs'. "McGee!" It came out like a bark, and he barely registered the boys retreating further into their corner.

"Shut up, Tony." McGee murmured, rolling just slightly to get away from Tony's probing hands, leaving a trail of blood behind him.

"Tim!" Tony reached his hand under McGee, looking for the source of the bleeding, all nicknames and joking gone from his voice. There was just worry there, so deep and palpable it was actually hurting his own chest, throbbing like a dull ache. "What happened to your side?"

"Landed on it." McGee's voice was soft, incredulity laced in there, "Didn't you see?…might have broken a rib…" Eyes fluttered again, and Tony barely sensed quiet, worried chatter among the boys behind him.

But he couldn't pay attention to the children, not now, not when he saw McGee's torso after he turned his partner over, and the plank of wood that was jutting obscenely out his side.

**There's not enough McGee bashing. Everyone seems to share this love for Tony, which we enjoy, but somehow the overtly nerdy McGee comes first in our hearts, which is unfortunate for him. We tend to mutilate characters we like. **

**Anyway, please review.**


	7. In Which the Cavalry Arrives

_I feel as if my whole life has been nothing but a dismal play, presented for someone else's amusement, and that the playwright who invented my cruel twist of fate is somewhere far above me, laughing and laughing at his creation. **Series of Unfortunate Events**_

_.***._

"What the hell happened here, Tony?"

The last time Gibbs had seen DiNozzo and McGee, they were at NCIS and going nowhere fast, buried in piles of false leads and red herrings. DiNozzo had been seeing double. McGee had been in pain, even if he refused to let it show, and Gibbs had sworn to tell him to go home as soon as he got back from checking on that new (and futile) lead with Ziva.

Now…now the case was broken, they'd found the kids alive, thank God, and DiNozzo had broken just about every rule in the figurative NCIS handbook. When he'd rushed into the house, Ziva at his heals, the whine of an ambulance not long behind them, the first thing he'd heard was the quiet chatter of young boys, frightened sounds, worried sounds.

The second thing he heard made his blood run cold, because he _knew_ Tony, had known him for long years, and he knew that he would never sound panicked or scared, especially in front of the victims of the case, without good reason. "C'mon, Probie…McGee…yeah, keep your eyes open. Tim! Stay awake!"

He'd turned to Ziva for a split second, long enough to see her careful façade slip for a moment to reveal true worry. "The door." She gestured with her drawn gun and Gibbs hurried down it, holstering his own weapon.

There were muffled cries of terror from the boys, and Gibbs wanted to go to them because the thing he hated most in the world was seeing kids hurt or scared, and these guys were both. But Tony was in a state of sheer panic, gripped McGee's arm tight even as the other agent's eyes closed slowly…

Gibbs took control of the situation the way he took control of almost every situation: gruffness and barking. "McGee! No sleeping!" And the sharp tone didn't help the six boys, who jumped ever-so slightly, trembling with fear and probably cold. But the order did have the desired effect on McGee.

"On it…boss…" The words were stuttered, quiet, but still definitely there. Out of the corner of his eye, Gibbs noticed Ziva attempt to approach the kids, heard the trooping of the paramedics above. Gibbs knelt next to Tony, stared at the beam of wood, as thick as his fist, jutting out of McGee's side.

First, because he had to ask, because it was _Tony_, he said, in a voice that was clipped with worry and no small amount of anger, "Are you hurt, DiNozzo?"

"No, boss." Tony couldn't even look chagrined, his habitual appearance when being berated by the older agent. His worry for McGee was all-consuming, palatable even through Gibbs' ire, and he softened ever so slightly.

"What the hell happened here, Tony?"

And so he got the whole story in a short, quick burst. How he had cajoled McGee into checking out the house with him. How they'd found it seemingly empty and were on their way out. How McGee had fallen, had found the kids, had hurt himself so badly in the process.

At the end, Gibbs' eyes were terribly angry, but, worse, Tony could see disappointment in them so clearly he looked away. It was no secret that he looked to Gibbs as a father, that he could only hope the older man would occasionally think of him as a son. He could take anger, but disappointment, especially justly placed disappointment, was harder for him to stomach.

"Go take care of the kids, DiNozzo." In a voice that obviously meant that they weren't finished here but was also a dismissal, a brush off, a type of punishment, because it meant that Tony couldn't do the one thing he so desperately needed.

"Boss, I need to stay with McGee. I got him into this mess." He'd meant the words as an example of him standing his ground, because damnit if he didn't feel something for McGee after all these years.

But Gibbs had taught the crash course in stubbornness, and knew exactly how to hit Tony where it hurt. DiNozzo, in Gibbs' opinion, had known that going into a house, injured, to possibly meet the man who'd shot him, was stupid, reckless, and could have gotten him killed. Dragging McGee into it was near unforgivable. "Yeah, you did, DiNozzo." Gibbs placed a hand on McGee's chest, just to make sure it was still rising and falling, It was…barely. "And I gotta tell you, his chances don't look good." Tony's face fell at the words, because they were said so angrily, because they were warranted, because they were true… "Now go help those kids."

To Tony's credit, he did start towards the small knot of boys, but not without a long look of concern at McGee. "You'll be okay, Probie."

As Gibbs settled down next in Tony's spot and took McGee's hand, he couldn't help but think that Tony's last sentiment was an unrealistic dream. Right now, it seemed like McGee's very survival was in question.

"You have to come with us." This from an EMT who looked about sixteen, though he was no doubt older. He put a hand on Jay's shoulder in a way that was obviously meant to be comforting, guiding, maybe even helping to prop the boy up.

Ziva had mostly given up on the boys, who had rebuffed all her attempts to get them to the paramedics, and was waiting anxiously by McGee. Now, though, she turned to the EMT and snapped at the same time as Tony, "Don't touch them!"

Jay flinched badly at the touch, his eyes going wide, his mouth opening in an _O_. "Please…" He murmured, eyes darting over to Tony and locking there. "Please…"

Tony realized then that, if he couldn't be with McGee (who was being loaded onto a gurney to be sped away to Bethesda, who hadn't opened his eyes, hadn't spoken since Gibbs had walked in, who had a plank in his side, who was his _Probie_) he could at least be the boys' advocate. "I'll get them out." He told the paramedic, the patented DiNozzo grin only a few watts below average, "Just make sure there's ambulances and medicine for them outside."

The paramedic looked dubious, but had also been startled at the violent reaction from Jay. He left without further ado.

Once again, Tony knelt in front of the boys. "Listen, guys, we're going to get you medicine. And food. And some new clothes. No one is going to hurt you, but someone's going to have to touch you in order to help you feel better. Got it? Kiddo?" he looked at Bobby, the youngest, and saw the faintest of nods. "Do you want to hold his hand on the way up the stairs?" He gestured to Jay, who was obviously the 'leader' of the six. "Will that make you feel better?"

"You won't let anyone hurt us?" The voice was accented, from a black boy who might have been as old as Jay. "You promise?"

The words may have sounded childish from any other thirteen-year-old on the planet, but they damn near made Tony's heart break.

He swallowed. Hard. "I promise. You'll be alright." Tony flashed the grin, the one that seemed to make people trust him, one that McGee would have used in this situation. "You're safe with me."

Another boy, young with serious grey eyes and long black hair, reached out unexpectedly to grab Tony's hand, hold it tight. "Okay." Tony said, working past the lump that suddenly formed in his throat. "Okay. We're getting out of here."

Gibbs stopped Tony before he climbed in the ambulance behind the kids. "Stay with them, DiNozzo. You have to be their advocate until Social Services gets into this mess."

"Sure, boss." Tony said, looking around Gibbs to the floor of the house, which was now empty.

Gibbs read his expression, or perhaps his mind. Tony would never put it past the older agent to be able to read his mind. "They got to the hospital a couple minutes ago. Ziva's with him." Gibbs paused, wondering if the next piece of information would interfere with Tony's ability to do his job. But he owed his Senior agent at least this much. "It doesn't look good. His heart stopped in the ambulance."

Tony reacted to the news as well as anyone, with a stricken, grief-filled expression washing over his features first, followed quickly by deep, awful guilt until that too was wiped off and he managed to arrange his face in a picture of normalcy. "Yeah." He swallowed, hard. "Okay."

A soft scream behind him, cut off at the end, the sharp crack of what he was coming to know as Jay's voice, "Don't touch him! You have to be careful – he's just a kid!" As if Jay himself wasn't a 'kid'.

"I…I gotta go, Boss." He knew that even though he'd be in the same hospital as McGee they wouldn't cross paths, that he'd probably hear nothing of the man, "Just…tell me. One way or the other."

_One way or the other_ was code for whether or not McGee was alive after Tony's recklessness caused him get impaled with a piece of wood. Gibbs nodded tightly, then reached out to touch Tony's shoulder in a rare display of affection.

"You did good, Tony." And Tony had enough presence of mind to know that he was talking about finding the kids, not hurting one of his best friends. Gibbs lifted his hand, hit Tony so lightly on the back of the head that it was barely there. "You ever blatantly ignore regulations again and I'll fire your ass."

"Yeah, Boss. Thanks."

Another muffled yell and Tony had to pull away, walk dazedly to the ambulance and climb in. He turned in time to see Gibbs conversing with…oh, someone, either police or FBI or…whoever, before he turned back to the kids, and the chaos he'd been dropped in the middle of.

**Legal systems are not our forte, but we pretty much have social services down pat, thanks to a few other fanfics we wrote that had DYFS storming in. Hopefully the next couple of chapters will be psuedo-accurate enough not to detract from what is left of the plot.**

**And, as always, please review. **


	8. In Which There Are More Hospitals

_"Carry on my wayward son. There'll be peace when you are done. Lay your weary head to rest. Don't you cry no more." **Kansas**_

_.***._

"Don't touch him!"

"Jay," Tony explained for the tenth time, his hands up placating, "Jay, they have to touch him. They need to figure out how badly he's hurt." The other boys had mostly consented to examinations, though they were stiff and uncomfortable under the hands of the EMT's. The paramedics soon realized this and had a women, who had been driving the ambulance, start examining the boys instead.

But when she got to Bobby, Jay had gone off the edge. Spitting, he pulled the boy away from the young woman's careful hands, looking around distrustfully. "She's gonna hurt him." Jay said, looking imploringly at Tony as if he trusted the agent more than anyone in the world. "Bobby's always getting' hurt when I let people touch him."

"'Twas different, Jay." Said Adam, who was about Jay's age and seemed the more level-headed of the two. "These guys are…like…good cops."

"Ain't no such thing." Jay said, but settled uneasily next to his friend, watching the paramedic's every move warily.

Jordan, the little black-haired boy who'd held Tony's hand on the way out of the house, looked up at the agent with large, serious eyes. "Is your friend going to the hospital, too? Is that why you's riding with us?"

Tony had tried to forget about McGee, forget about the fact that, hours earlier, the kind-hearted computer geek had been arguing with him about whether or not to go investigate the house, forget about the plank sticking out of his friend's side, forget about Gibbs, about _It doesn't look good._ "Yes," he said, slowly, trying hard to mask the emotions boiling hurt and sad beneath the surface, "Yes, he's going to the hospital, but I'm not going to see him. I'm going to stick with you guys."

"You don't want to see your friend?" Jordan sidled closer to Tony, slipped a small, nine-year-old hand into his, taped ribs and black eye and all, "You sad 'cause he's hurt?"

"Yeah, I'm sad." Tony said, admitting the fact more readily to the group of boys than he would have to Abby, to Ziva. "But I'm also sad that someone hurt _you_." He locked eyes with Jay, who was angry, who was protective and loyal and _angry_. "There's a whole lot of sadness going on today."

And, of course, the fun couldn't just stop there.

Getting to the emergency room was an adventure by itself. Three of the kids – and Tony couldn't help but notice that they were the three oldest – needed their bones to be set surgically. Their breaks were healing wrong, the doctors said, but the operation was routine.

All three were still walking, which Tony found heartening, though the fact that no one had mentioned the pain they were in put a nagging worry in the back of Tony's mind. Jay knelt in front of Bobby before allowing himself to be led away. "You stay with Mr. Tony, okay kiddo? Don't let no other guys take you away from him." Jay locked eyes with Tony, who nodded, accepting the charge.

"What is 'operation'?" Don asked. In the ambulance, Tony had been able to gather than _Don_ was short for _Donkor_.

"It means 'humble' in Swahili, which is almost like 'kind 'or something. Jay told me once." Jordan had supplied, touching Don's hand. Tony had already classified Jordan as one of the boys who liked the sensations of touch, while others – like Jay, like Don, shied away from it instinctively. "He's from, like, a whole 'nother _world_."

"Country." Adam had corrected automatically. "He's from Egypt. Just came to the US two years ago, right, Donny?"

Don had nodded, his thin, tanned face stark and serious, showing little expression besides pain as a paramedic probed at his arm. "I was separated from my family. To look for work."

"It's an awful story, mister." Jordan said, snuggling close to Tony, gripping his arm tight. "They has a mean life, and everyone wants Dom 'cause his voice is so pretty."

"Don't talk about that, Jordan." This was Charlie, who Tony hadn't heard from at all since meeting the kids. He was seven, perhaps, with soft brown eyes that were constantly wide, as if surprised by something. Or scared. "Can you just not talk about that?"

But as the three oldest boys were being led away, Adam rapidly explaining to Donkor what an operation would entail, Tony knew that they would have to talk about that. There was simply nothing left to talk about. It was the Titanic-sized elephant in the room, at least to Tony.

He just didn't know how to go about doing it. Oh, sure, he'd interviewed victims before, more than he cared to count. He'd even interviewed _rape_ victims before. They just hadn't been six-to-eight-year-old boys. Where did you start with little kids? Little kids drove Tony crazy. They were impatient and high-strung, or else quiet and withdrawn. They didn't act in predictable patterns like adults.

McGee would know what to say. McGee was the troop leader for a troop of Woodland Scouts (or whatever the heck they were). He knew what video games kids were playing (he played half of them himself). He could relate. He could connect.

Something flipped in his stomach at the thought of McGee (with a plank sticking out of his chest, with a snake biting his wrist, with his eyes wide and scared when he couldn't find Tony the last time they were in a hospital, two days ago). He knew the he ragged on the Probie a lot, but that was only because he knew that the younger man had the potential to become a Senior Field Agent himself.

"Hey, mister." Tony whirled too fast and Bobby flinched horribly.

"Hey, kiddo." Tony took a knee, like he had in the basement, and gently, so gently, took Bobby's hand, and was insanely happy when the six-year-old didn't pull away from him. "Are you worried about Jay and those guys? They just got a little more banged up than you. We'll wait right here for them."

"M'kay." Bobby said amicably, bouncing up onto a chair. "Sit down, Charlie."

Charlie, who was undoubtedly older than Bobby, was three inches shorter, and Tony hoisted him from under the armpits so he could fold his legs into a chair. Jordan scrambled into another one, on the other side of Bobby. When they'd settled, they went perfectly still, staring at Tony expectantly. At least the wariness had mostly gone from their expressions.

"Okay, guys." Tony said, reaching instinctively into his breast pocket – the pocket of the coat that now lay across Bobby's scrawny shoulders. He motioned to the kid to give him and the pad and the blond did, handing the paper over mutely.

"Listen – there's going to be a lot of people asking you questions. You need to tell me everything right now, but after me you don't have to answer any more questions unless you want to, okay? But right now, I just need to know what happened."

The boys exchanged looks. "Can't tell." Charlie finally said, his soft voice barely carrying over the din of the waiting room. "Pu'shment."

Was there no end in sight for the lumps that kept rising to Tony's throat? "Oh…oh, no, kiddo, you won't be punished for telling me the truth. I just need to know what happened so I can know how much to punish the men who hurt you. You didn't do anything wrong."

"Can't tell." Jordan seconded, this time staring anxiously at the place where the other half of their little group had disappeared. "Jay said not to tell."

"Okay," Tony said, because he couldn't find anything in him that justified putting a six-year-old through this experience. "Maybe later? After you see Jay and Don and Adam again? Then you'll tell me?" It wasn't like they had the perpetrators yet, anyway. Gibbs was undoubtedly lying in wait in the cellar with a SWAT team or something equally dramatic. Tomorrow they'd have the monsters. Tonight they just had the scared kids with nowhere to go.

"There you are, Tony." Ziva's arms were laden with several varieties of food, from salads to McDonald's Kid's Meals. She tumbled the mass into a chair and collapsed into the next nearest one, hand to her forehead.

"How's McGee?" Tony asked quickly, willing his heart to slow before it banged right out of his chest.

"Still in surgery. Ducky and Palmer are here – no dead bodies from the house so far, but there will be some if Gibbs gets his way. Abby came, too, but she could not be pried away from McGee."

"Of course not." Tony relaxed just slightly, then turned to the boys, who were staring, not surprisingly, at the food. It must have been more food at one time than they'd seen in weeks. Though the paramedics and then the doctors who'd run the cursory examinations had found little physically wrong with the youngest three boys, they'd all said the same thing: malnutrition.

"Guys, this is agent Ziva. She works with me and McGee – the guy who fell through the ceiling?" the boys nodded. Bobby even managed a small smile. "Ziva, this is Charlie, Bobby, and Jordan."

Ziva stared at the boys as if she'd never seen children before, then a warm, soft expression – so feminine, so unlike Ziva – broke over her face. "You want some food? You look hungry enough to eat a goat."

"Horse." Tony corrected absent-mindedly, already sorting through the food for something that stomachs that weren't used to a lot of sustenance could tolerate. He came up with a few soft rolls and a medium-sized salad. He handed these over to the boys, who stared at the Happy Meal longingly.

"Sorry, big guys, but your stomachs will barely tolerate all this." But the look of longing never left their eyes. Tony sighed, then smiled at a tactic used against him many times by various house-keepers whenever he wanted to take double helpings. "Tell you what: you eat all that and in twenty minutes – I'll keep time – if you're still hungry you can eat the Happy Meal. Deal?"

The boys nodded eagerly, and Tony supposed to them it would be a great deal. They were so hungry now they couldn't imagine _ever_ not wanting to eat. Tony allowed himself a sad smirk, knowing that their stomachs would be bloated with just the small amount of food.

He watched the kids eat in silence for a bit, idly wondering how Gibbs was doing on his end of the operations. Gibbs questioning child molesters was something even Tony was a little afraid of seeing. Gibbs taking them down must be awe-inspiring.

"It will all turn out alright, Tony." Ziva said, following his gaze to the three little boys but also following his thoughts across the hospital to the room where McGee was fighting for his life. "McGee will be fine. He is just a little over the weather."

"Under. Under the weather." Correcting idioms came easily now (and why did English have so many?) but Tony could think of a more appropriate one for this situation, one that his father was always fond of saying, one that would describe the boys, the prostitution ring, the snake, the gun, McGee…

He said, quietly, more to himself than anyone else, thinking of his twice-cursed father the whole time, "You always remember…when it rains, it pours."

**So, to help everyone (including ourselves) keep them straight: it's Jay, Adam, and Donkor, who are about thirteen, and Charlie, 8, Jordan, 7, and Bobby, 6. **

**And if you love them at all, please review.**


	9. In Which There Are Complications

_"And at that very moment, away behind in some courtyard of the City, a Cock crowed. Shrill and clear he crowed, reckoning nothing of wizardry or war, welcoming only the morning, that in the sky far above the shadows of death was coming with the dawn." **The Return of the King**_

_.***._

Social Services arrived and created what was probably the biggest jurisdiction snafu Tony had ever seen, and that was saying something. NCIS needed the kids as witnesses in order to put the twenty or so men they'd picked up behind bars. Social Services wanted to put them back with their families and then, finding they had none, into the system.

The back-and-forth was not helping Tony's headache. He ducked out of the conversation after the first volley was returned, going instead to sit back with McGee.

He hadn't woken up yet. The doctors said that it would probably be a day or so before the drugs let up enough for him to wake up, but that the surgery had gone very well, thank you very much. "So he'll be okay?" Abby had asked, her voice wobbling with worry.

"He'll be fine." And Abby had taken one look at McGee before resolutely turning away and hurrying down the hall. She'd spent the afternoon and most of the evening waiting for news about one of her best friends, but there was evidence that needed to be run ASAP for those kids. "Take care of him for me," she'd said, pointing a finger at Tony's chest. "And don't even think about goading him into getting up."

Tony, rightly chagrined, flushed hot, "Right." He didn't need to check his watch to know it was late, so he softened his tone, knowing that it was killing Abby to have to spend even a few minutes away from McGee. "Go on. The faster you leave, the faster you'll get back."

And that was how Tony ended up moving all the boys into McGee's room around one in the morning, filling up all the chairs. Adam and Donkor had been placed in their own room – Tony made sure Ziva was over there, that way at least someone was familiar. Jay wasn't out of surgery yet.

Tony had Jordan – by far the one most willing to be touched – on his lap, and the young boy's hair brushed against Tony's lower arm. The look of his peaceful, _young_ face made Tony's blood boil for the men who'd hurt him.

The one point that Gibbs had conceded to for social services and the prosecutors who would be taking the case was to have the hospital administer a rape kit on the boys. It was purely for the evidence – the files on the flash drive and the boys' own skittish qualities were proof enough for the NCIS agents. All six had come back positive. Multiple…

But Tony couldn't think down that line, couldn't because concentrating on two tragedies at once defied his personality. He threw his heart and soul into one thing at a time. Right now, it was McGee who needed him the most.

They'd called McGee's parents, who lived in Ohio and couldn't get a plane until the morning. His sister had taken a year to study abroad in Spain. So the NCIS agents were all the family McGee was going to get until the next day.

"I'm sorry, McGee." It was a whisper, so as not to wake up the children around him, but Tony couldn't have felt any more guilty than if he'd thrust the plank of wood into McGee's side himself. "God, I'm so sorry."

Their relationship had evolved over the years. His Probie was becoming more and more independent, more proficient at his job. Tony's teasing remarks had become just that – running jokes that they both enjoyed in their own way.

Tony liked to think that McGee knew that, that he recognized the nicknames and teasing as shows of affection, ways of building McGee's confidence and voice. He certainly thought of McGee as a slower, less-handsome younger brother.

The monitors beeped quietly which each beat of McGee's heart and the sound managed to sooth Tony's frayed nerves. Slowly, slowly, his grip on Jordan became slack. With one hand on the child and one hand tucked in McGee's open palm, he fell asleep.

.***.

The ordeal wasn't over, though.

The most pressing problem was, of course, the kids. The six boys were homeless, had been living on the streets of Philadelphia and Camden and Baltimore when Murphey and his cronies picked them up. Now with three recovering from surgery and three scared and shaking, Social Services wanted to put them into the system.

"That can't happen." Tony said flatly, locking eyes with the woman who just couldn't understand what these kids were like, not like Tony could. "You can't touch them. I mean, you can, because they'll just sit there and take it, but being in a group home or even foster care would kill them."

"You cannot separate the older boys from the younger ones." Tony's biggest supporter was Ziva, who'd been with Adam and Donkor all night, "You will drive them out of their heads with worry."

The woman sighed, looked down at her file as if there might be answers there. Her name was Beatrice, and she really was a good person. She cared about the kids she worked with. She knew the system was flawed, but it was the only one they had and that wasn't changing anytime soon. "Maybe I can get them into the same area…perhaps the same city."

"Why not the same place?" Gibbs asked, his voice gruff and uncompromising. Yesterday he'd told two of his agents not to leave NCIS. They had left anyway and found the kids. Now McGee had a hole in his side and Tony had six human shadows and was trying to play guardian while jumping through the system's hoops.

And Gibbs hadn't gotten any sleep, thanks to the two dozen-odd people he'd arrested and attempted to interrogate the night before.

"It would be impossible to find a facility willing to take in six emotionally disturbed boys. Perhaps the three young ones can be in the same place, but everyone is wary of teenage boys with issues." Beatrice sighed, closed the folder. "Social services will be back when the children are cleared to leave the hospital."

Tony watched her go. "That can't happen, boss. It's not right."

"No, it's not." Gibbs hated cases like these, cases where children were the pawns and adults played with them as if they were toys to be stowed away and forgotten when convenient. But maybe it was better this way, with social services involved. At least the boys were off the streets.

Maybe, in a sick, twisted, backwards way, this whole thing had been a blessing in disguise.

Gibbs snorted at the very thought and took a long sip of coffee, watching the woman who didn't understand children at all walk away. This was anything but a blessing.

"We need those statements, DiNozzo." Gibbs said quietly. "We've held out for longer than we should have and NCIS has twenty men stewing in interrogation."

He expected protest, because even Gibbs knew that the boys weren't ready to relive the whole experience again, that perhaps they never would be, and he hadn't sat with them all night. But instead Tony nodded, obedient if not enthusiastic. "On it, boss."

Of course, on his way he was intercepted by Abby. "There you are, Tony, I've been looking for you _everywhere_!"

"Haven't really gone anywhere, Abs, just had to clear stuff up with Social Services. Did McGee wake up?"

Abby's smile betrayed her news. "He's been asking for you. _Shouting_ for you, actually. I had to fight the nurses tooth and nail so they wouldn't sedate him."

Tony quickened his pace, heading down the now-familiar corridors towards McGee's room. "But he's alright?"

"Perfectly." The smile slipped a couple of notches. "He'll need more surgery, though, probably tomorrow. Yesterday was just to stabilize him, but he still needs some of the more specific work done, and then there's physical therapy for his arm – which is still the worst because you know McGee, he loves his arms, he needs them because he works on the computers all day with me. What if he can't do that anymore? What if he's not fast enough? Tony, do you think -"

"Abby."Tony was practicing that loving-yet-stern thing Gibbs always had going on when talking to everyone's favorite lab technician. "You've got to calm down before we go in to see McGee."

It was visible, Abby's reaction to the words. She took a deep, stabilizing breath, puffing out her cheeks in the way children did when asked to breathe deeply. She nodded as she exhaled.

"Tony!" Tony kept his face as impassive as possible when McGee's voice broke on the word. He took in his partner's appearance – pale, with deep, dark circles under his eyes. He looked sick, but not beaten. It was obvious he'd been fretting about something incessantly since he'd woken up.

"Worrying 'bout me, Probie? You shouldn't have." Tony didn't know why he couldn't just sit down and hold McGee's hand as he had during the night, tell him that he was sorry for dragging him into the house when he knew that it was an unsafe environment. He just couldn't get the words out in the light of day. Still, he managed "how you doing?" even if that didn't quite say all he needed to say.

McGee glanced down at his body as if he was noticing for the first time that he was confined to a bed. Brow furrowing, he looked back up at Tony, "But…you fell through the floor. At the house. Why…?" The monitor began beeping a warning and Tony put a placating hand on McGee's arm.

"McGee, you have to calm down, okay? You calm down and I'll fill you in on everything, I promise, but if you don't they'll kick me out, and probably Abby too, 'cause she loves you too much to leave you out of anything, especially a case you helped crack." The monitor showed McGee trying to comply with the order and the jagged spikes and rapid beeping eventually slowed to a monotonous drone.

When the sharp edges of the lines once again smoothed, Tony allowed himself to sit down _just for a bit. Sleep is for wusses, anyway_. "You were the one who fell, Probie not me." The image of whipping around only to see McGee plunge into darkness invaded his mind for a bright instant, "Found the kids while you were at it, too."

"'S good." McGee murmured, his hand tightening around Abby's. "Thought you'd died or something. Gibbs would have been pissed."

"Mmm." For all they didn't say to each other, Tony knew a naked sentiment when he heard one. He and Tim may not acknowledge the years, but they'd crept up on them. Three, five, seven, and Tony had stopped thinking of McGee as the slower little brother but as an equal, a friend, a best friend.

"K-kids okay?" They both winced at the stutter and Tony pressed the magic little button that would up those pain meds. McGee sighed at once as the pain receded to a throb.

"There's some hanging around outside if you want to meet them. There's six boys, all present and accounted for. Malnutrition and…well, you can probably guess. But they'll live."

McGee snorted. "Some life."

Tony frowned slightly. It wasn't like McGee to be pessimistic about anything, even a problem that had no immediate solution. "Gibbs is arguing with Social Services right now. He'll make sure they stay together at least."

McGee's face was still clouded with worry and pain, and Tony tried to think of a way to brighten up the room. It was Abby who poked her head in, her face automatically softening at the sight of McGee, "Hey," she said, voice low for once, "There's some people who want to thank you."

Bobby, Charlie, and Jordan peered around the corner, smiling shyly as they noticed McGee on the bed. If Tony had been looking, he would have seen the three boys exchange quick looks, then nod as they decided that, yes, they really were going to do this. He would have seen them creep over to the bed, small hands reaching to touch McGee, to thank him with the small, immensely important gestures of children.

But Tony was looking instead at McGee, who had fixed a fake smile in place for Abby. He watched as the smile became gentler, wider, fuller, until it became real, until all the pain and misery and meanness of the last few days was forgotten. For now.

**I love premier week for all the new seasons of TV shows. Especially when we happen to write for one of those categories. **

**And, of course, we love NCIS. And we love people who review.**


	10. In Which Children Have Stories to Tell

_"Fairy tales do not tell children dragons exist. Children already know dragons exist. Fairy tales tell children dragons can be killed." **G. K. Chesterson**_

_**.***.**_

Jay was glaring at Tony before he even walked in the room. "You want to know the story you ask me, okay? Don't bug the little kids about it. They're starting to forget already and it'd be nice to keep it that way."

Of course Jay would know that Tony had to get statements from all of them, but the fact that he was trying to look out for the others made Tony smile a bit. How the heck could he be proud of a kid he'd met the day before?

He settled himself in a chair that he had pulled around to the front of the room, intensely aware of Adam and Donkor's quiet gazes. "You know I can't do that, buddy, but I'll make you a deal. You guys tell me the whole thing – you can take your time, there's no rush -" Which was, of course, a lie, but Tony wasn't about to make this harder than it already was, "and I'll make sure the kids only have to answer a few questions."

Jay pondered this for a moment, looking doubtful. "Deal." It was Adam who said this, and Jay glared, then suddenly looked defeated. "Fine. Deal. Whatever."

Ziva slipped quietly into the room and took a seat next to Donkor, who she greeted in what even Tony recognized to be Arabic. The dark boy seemed incredibly happy to have someone who knew his native language and rolled off a few quick sentences to her. To Tony's ears, it sounded like he was singing.

Ziva cleared her throat, looking at Tony. "Donkor would like to begin. He says that his family recently immigrated to the United States."

"Yeah," Jay put in, "Three years ago. 'Cept his pop couldn't get a job and he has, like, ten other siblings. The older ones all split, and Don did too. Ended up on the streets. Like us."

"Should have stayed in Egypt." Don said in lilting English. From the wry, bitter smiles on all three boys' faces, Tony guessed that this was an oft-expressed sentiment. "But I met Adam…"

"You guys knew each other before this?" Tony asked, wondering why he was so surprised. He'd worked a Baltimore beat as a cop, had seen the gangs street urchins ran in. Some were loose alliances, others were strong as blood bonds.

"Jay knew Bobby and I knew Don. Charlie and Jordan were picked up in Camden, I think, but they didn't know each other or us." Adam shrugged lightly. He was fourteen, as was Donkor, and Jay was fifteen. In the basement, Tony had pegged them all at no older than thirteen. They'd starved on the streets, for sure, but not as badly as they'd starved in recent weeks. The obvious malnourishment – protruding ribs, cheekbones, hips – was hard to look at.

Still, these three acted older than their years. Street life and being kidnapped for other men's sexual amusement would do that to you. Either you found a way to cope or you broke, and these six boys, as messed up as they would be for the rest of their lives, were far from broken.

"They took us all together – I don't know any names, but the little ones might have picked up some. They were less careful around the kids." Tony didn't like the way Jay said 'kids', implying that he wasn't one. "We went into the basement months ago."

"Nine weeks, Jay, don't exaggerate."

"Don't need to exaggerate man, this is already the saddest story in the world." Jay looked down at his fingers, examined the IV, the bandages wrapped around his body, before moving on. "I mean, it's sad because it happened, but it's really sad because they took the kids. We tried to help, we really did, but some guys are just sick. Some like them little – like, Bobby little."

Ziva, who had been conversing quietly with Donkor in Arabic (the sound of the language calmed him enough for him to speak freely about the ordeal. If it wasn't in English, perhaps it wasn't real), looked up at Tony. "Apparently every night they'd line up and be sold by the hour."

"There was strategy to it." Adam said quietly. "I mean…if someone was having a really bad couple of nights, we'd put them in between Don and Jay. If you get Don talking…well, the men wouldn't leave him alone once they heard the accent. And Jay…" Adam smiled, tipping a head in his friend's direction. "Well, you can tell he's the embodiment of the brooding handsome type."

"Thanks dude."

"No problem man."

"You're cute, too."

"You're so not my type." Adam looked relaxed, the easy exchange calming his nerves. It calmed Tony's, too. It would be easier for these guys if they had a coping mechanism. Humor, as dark as it would no doubt be, was a good a defense as any. But Adam continued to talk, his voice wistful. "We haven't seen any girls in…months."

"You are forgetting Ziva." Donkor added, smiling shyly at the woman who, uncharacteristically, smiled back. "And she is very beautiful."

Tony cleared his throat. The general picture was already shaping up, but he needed specifics, especially because he didn't want to grill a six year old about how many times he was raped each night. "How often…?"

"Two or three times a night. Those two," Adam said, jerking his head in the direction of his friends, "sometimes had four or five 'customers.' If we wanted to help someone out – Charlie especially was a wreck. He's a baby, too – we could maybe go for a night without having them picked. But everyone else suffered."

"You dig?" Jay asked softly, his eyes meeting Tony's. They'd offer more information if it was necessary, but Tony's mind could easily fill in the gaps.

"I dig."

"We'd mostly block the nights out." Jay said, shrugging. "I mean, they were god-awful, and sometimes people were hurt and stuff – I mean, I have nine broken bones. It got rough. But during the day…"

"It was almost bearable." Adam interjected. "We'd tell stories. Talk. Sing. There was never much to eat, and of course Jay would give his share to the kids if me and Don didn't watch him, but we'd eat about once a day. Bread, water…"

"Baloney." Donkor said, shuddering. "I will never eat baloney again."

"Don was the best." Jay said, smiling in the direction of the Egyptian, who ducked his head shyly. "He has this great way of telling stories, and he's the only one who'd ever been anywhere. He's been on a plane and stuff, and he'd tell us about that."

"A lot of the talk centered around food. Stuff we wanted to eat if we ever got to become people again. It was bearable. And then we'd do Nights and it would be another nightmare." Adam folded his hands. "Is there anything else you want to know?"

"No." Tony said, clearing his throat. "No, you guys did good. Thanks." He started to get up when the boys asked questions of their own.

"That guy you were with when you found us…" Adam started, looking suddenly concerned, and that touched Tony more than anything else. That this kid, who'd been through so much, had that kind of empathy. "He's okay?"

"He's pretty hurt, but he'll be okay." Tony couldn't shake the guilt he still carried about McGee's condition. He'd been shot, and Tony had dragged him across town into a potentially dangerous situation, where he'd fallen through the floor, hurt his shot shoulder again, and impaled his side. There was a lot of room for guilt.

"Hey, mister?" This time it was Jay, his expression bleak. "What's gonna happen to us? They're splitting us up, aren't they?"

Tony could lie very, very well. It was what made him a good agent, a good cop. It was also what made him single. But it was a gift that helped when dealing with abused kids, especially those still drugged up to their eyeballs from surgery. "No, kid. They're not going to split you up."

There was no way he could keep that promise, but the flicker of happiness that ran across the three boys' faces was well worth it.

**Ah, NCIS. No McGee/Tony love in this one, but we promise that's, like, the entire rest of the story.**

**Review?**


	11. In Which There is Some Happiness

_Sometimes, even in the most unfortunate of lives, there will occur a moment or two of good fortune. **Lemony Snicket**_

_**.***.**_

Gibbs was reading a boating magazine. He didn't read them often, mostly because when he got wrapped up in a case he didn't have time, and in those all-too-infrequent lulls between investigations he usually worked on his own boat, his means of catharsis, his relief.

But when he had the time, like those times (and, yes, times with an 's') when one of his agents (God forbid) was injured, he liked to sit back with a boating magazine and pretend he had a simple life like the ones in the photographs, with simple pleasures like coming home to a wife and daughter and not a big boat in an empty house.

He needed sleep. He knew that, and he'd sent Tony, Ziva, and Abby home to get some, but he couldn't in good conscience leave McGee hurt and alone in the hospital. So he'd stayed behind, sweet-talked the young nurse into giving him a blanket, put his feet up on the side table, and was relaxing.

Discount the six displaced, hurt boys, the injured agent, the twenty or so pedophiles he'd arrested, and it would be downright jolly.

"Boss?" McGee's voice was thick and grainy. He'd been in and out of consciousness all day until the surgery seven hours ago. After that, he hadn't woken up at all.

Gibbs let out a breath he hadn't known he'd been holding when McGee's small voice filled the empty room. At least McGee was awake now, and capable of speech. Small miracles in their line of work. "You sleeping on the job, McGee?" But his voice held no ice and his tone was playful and even McGee, usually the last one to catch on to social cues, could figure out he was kidding.

"'Course not, Boss, that would be wrong." McGee sighed, moving his head a little so he could peer at his arm. "That's pretty ugly."

"Yup." Gibbs agreed. He would let the doctor explain to McGee that he couldn't go out into the field for a month, that he would need to stay in the hospital for four more days, that his shoulder might hurt if he used his arm or hand for long periods of time (like when he was typing, Gibbs had asked about that specifically and had felt sorry for McGee when the reluctant answer was yes. The kid was a damn good hacker and a published author to boot.) No, Gibbs would let the doctor play bad guy in the morning.

Settling back into the cushion, McGee's eyes held Gibbs' for a second before darting away. "Tony alright?"

"Sure. Not much trouble to get into in a hospital, even if you're DiNozzo." Gibbs raised an eyebrow, a habit he'd noticed his agents picking up over the years. "Why d'you ask?"

"Just wondering why you're hanging around, Boss." McGee said, then quickly, to cover up his mistake, "Not that I'm trying to say where you should be! It's just…well, the case is wrapping up and I thought that you'd be at home…"

"Someone had to keep an eye on the six kids we got running around this place." Gibbs said, watching as McGee colored further, obviously forgetting the key part of the investigation. "And I wanted to stick around here. I'm catching up on my reading." He nodded to the boating magazine.

"You don't have to stick around for me, Boss." McGee said, voice low and subdued. "I'm probably just going to fall asleep again, anyway."

Gibbs half-frowned. Did his agents really think so little of him? "Sure you will, McGee, but I wanted to be around when you woke up."

"Why?" McGee asked, which was true proof that one should not be allowed to talk while high on pain killers and just out of surgery. "I'm not Tony."

And Gibbs…found he couldn't respond to that. Couldn't, because he would first have to explain to himself the strange bond between him and DiNozzo. Tony was a grown man, after all, yet Gibbs felt…responsible for him. Protective of him. Like a father to a son. And McGee was right that the bond between Gibbs and McGee was different from, and perhaps less than, that strange bond between Gibbs and Tony.

Still, he couldn't leave the strange conversation here, not when there was so much air to clear between them. "No," he agreed, speaking slowly, carefully, "You're not Tony." He settled himself more comfortable in the chair, "But damnit, McGee, you're important, too."

If it hadn't been for the drugs, McGee definitely would have asked another question, but the siren song of oblivion was too hard to resist, and McGee fell asleep looking surprised…and happy.

.***.

Tony relieved Gibbs the next morning, bounding in wearing McGee's old MIT sweatshirt and bearing coffee and donuts.

"Tony," McGee said, looking up from the newspaper he was attempting to read using only one hand. It was slow going, "Why are you wearing my sweatshirt?"

Looking down at his chest, Tony snorted. "Should have known that you would be the geek that graduated from MIT, Probie. I must have picked it up in the locker room." He made no motion to strip out of the sweatshirt and McGee sighed, going back to the paper. "I brought breakfast."

"So I see. You going to share?"

"Only if you're nice, McProbie-Wan."

"Why do you always call me that?"

"How about McProbester?" Tony asked, putting the coffee on McGee's tray. Catching sight of McGee's face, he hurried on. "McFlower Power? McGoogle?"

"Damnit, Tony," McGee growled, but only because he was trying so hard not to laugh. He lost the battle, though, letting out a short, sharp laugh and nearly screaming in pain as he almost ripped the stitches in his side.

Tony eyed McGee, feeling guilty again. He shouldn't have led McGee into that house without backup. He shouldn't even have convinced McGee to leave NCIS. Look where it had led them. "Look, Probie…."

"Not your fault, Tony." McGee said, letting this one go early. The two were so often trying to one-up the other, trying to prank and scheme and backstab, that sometimes, sometimes, they both forgot that deep down they were really just brothers locked in an ongoing, extreme version of sibling rivalry.

And McGee knew when to let things lie. Sometimes he'd lord an incident over Tony for days, weeks, reminding him of a mistake or a less-than-macho move. But he knew that Tony felt really horrible over this incident. He knew that Tony was sorry.

And sometimes, not always, but sometimes being sorry was enough. If it came with coffee and donuts.

Tony's face gained a little bit of color and he looked down quickly before McGee could catch the relief flickering in his eyes at the forgiveness. Changing the subject quickly (because, of course, DiNozzos were pretty good as misdirection) he said, "so you want to hear the latest on the boys?"

"Sure." McGee said, happy for the distraction from the pain, from his situation. "They doing okay?"

"Fine. Great, even. The little ones – Charlie, Bobby, and Jordan – don't really have much wrong with them. Social Services tried to claim them but we got some sympathetic doctors to swear up and down that they needed to stay in the hospital for further evaluation. They haven' t been split up yet."

"You know you're just postponing the inevitable." McGee pointed out, surprised when Tony grinned.

"No, you didn't hear the best part! Someone offered to adopt them."

"All six of them?" McGee sputtered disbelievingly. "And they're sane?"

"Sure. It's this old lady from Texas or Georgia or one of those good ol' Bible Belt states. She called NCIS yesterday and Abby got ahold of her. Apparently, she used to adopt siblings from foster care all the time, so they wouldn't be split up, but she hasn't done it in a couple of years. Anyway, she saw the boys on television and the power of the Lord just seized her." Tony shrugged. "Sounds kind of far-fetched to me, but I'm not going to look a gift horse in the mouth."

McGee laughed at the old idiom, at the little miracles that could happen when you most needed them. "That's the best news ever!" He said, happy. "So they all get to stick together?"

"Sure, if the lady checks out. I think she will, though. Stable, forty-year marriage, and she has a farm and all that…Southern…stuff…" Tony quirked a smile, lacing his hands behind his head. "So I guess things really do work out alright in the end, huh, Tim?"

The use of his first name surprised McGee and forced his smile wider still. Maybe this was something like God's plan, where everything starts out miserable and true blessings come out of horrible situations. Maybe it was like points on a dotted line, and they were all just toy soldiers marching down a marked path, not knowing where they were going but knowing that the end point had to be a damn sight better than the starting point. And sometimes it wasn't.

But sometimes, you got lucky.

"Yeah, Tony." McGee said slowly, nodding at the miracle of it al. "I guess they do."

**The end.**

**Well, kind of.**

**One more chapter, this one an epilogue of sorts that should (should…) be up by Christmas. If not, happy Christmas to every one of you wonderful, wonderful people.**


	12. In Which There is Closure

_"Siblings must take care of each other when they are alone in the world." **Lemony Snicket**_

_**.***.**_

**Epilogue**

Tim watched as the blizzard raged outside of NCIS, sipping at the last dregs of the coffee Abby had dropped off for him hours ago along with the mail that would surely be the last batch for a couple of days. No postman, no matter how dedicated, could brave snow like this.

He hadn't looked at the pile yet; he'd been typing. Ever since he'd been released from the hospital he'd try every day, and pounding against the keys hurt about twice as much as physical therapy. Still, McGee was determined to be as fast as he had been two months ago, determined that the incident at the house with the boys wouldn't stop him.

"Hey McGeeker," Tony said, leaning over his shoulder at peering at the lines of code McGee was writing. They were the last ones left. Tony had been down in the old archives, the ones still on paper to look up some information on the latest case, and McGee had been so focused on his computer that neither of them noticed the snow coming down until it was too late to try to bully their ways home. "Who do you know in Texas?"

"No one. My whole family's from Michigan." McGee said, not really looking up until Tony had the letter in his hand. "Do you really want to open that, Tony? Don't you remember what happened last time?"

"Strangely enough I do. Near-death experiences seem to be the only thing I can remember in high detail." Tony said, rolling his eyes as he broke the seal. "But look - no kiss. Besides, this one is addressed to the both of us."

"Really?" McGee asked, interest piqued. He finally took a good look at the letter and noticed it was quite bulky. "Who's it from?"

Tony was already taking out one of the many pieces of paper, his eyes darting back and forth across the lines. "You won't believe this – it's from those boys! The ones from the case where you…you know…" Tony half-glanced at McGee's arm, still a little shriveled from its month and a half stay in a cast.

"No way!" McGee said, snatching one of the papers from the pile that Tony had dumped onto the desk, eager to see how the boys he'd thought so much about in the past two months were doing.

_Dear Special Agents Tony and Tim,_

_I don't know if we'll ever be able to thank you for saving us. It was a bad situation we were in, and sometimes I felt like we – the three oldest – were not cut out for keeping the Little Guys alive. But we did keep them alive just long enough for you to find us._

_I hope that Special Agent Tim is OK. He was still real bad when Mrs. Mindy and Mr. Roger came to take us from the hospital. I'm real sorry he got hurt. I know what it's like to see your friends hurt and not be able to do anything about it._

_Things are nice here in Texas. No one cept Don had ever been away from the East Coast, and it's real nice to know there's so much space in some places. We're all used to cities, you know? Cities and concrete and buildings and no trees. And here it's just a lot of space where you can run far away and yell at the top of your lungs and it's OK 'cus no one's going to hear you. We live on a farm here, a big farm that Mr. Roger says is really a ranch. Mr. Roger is a nice sort of guy, even if we were all a little afraid of him when we first got here. We'll be afraid of guys for a while, I think._

_They're nice folks, these Texas types. I went to church for the first time when I got here and now I'm an altar boy only two months in. There's other kids, too. Girls. Boys our age. Jay got into playing football and Don found out that he's the nerdy type and the Kids are settling in just fine. Sometimes it's like nothing ever happened._

_Except it did happen, you know? We were in that basement for months and we were hurt every night and we still managed to live through it. At church Father Mike says that it was God's will that we lived, and I believe that, but I also believe Mrs. Mindy when she says that it was because we were smart and resourceful and lucky that people showed up when they did._

_I think you guys must deal with a lot of dead people with your job, and I just wanted to say that you saved six people from dying. In your jobs, I guess sometimes it feels like you can't do anything to stop the badness. We lived with that kind of badness, and we know that some people are just nasty and there's no way to change it. But you saved the six of us. You did a world of good in our lives. And you made an awful, horrible, unspeakable situation turn out OK._

_We're getting better and we're going to keep getting better because you guys gave us a chance at living. Thank you._

_Adam_

McGee put the heel up to his hand quick before Tony could see the moisture in his eyes. The psychologist that the department insisted he see after being hurt in the line of duty said that he was just waiting around for closure, and he wasn't going to get any better until he made peace with what happened with the boys. This letter was the definition of closure. Adam was right: he and Tony had done something that changed the entire course of six boys' lives.

"Look at this." Tony said, holding out a snapshot for Tim to see. He took it, eyes scanning the slightly travel-worn photograph.

The boys looked the same for the most part. Two months hadn't done much to their heights or faces. They'd all filled out some – Southern food, Tim mused, would do that to you – and they'd all gotten haircuts. The biggest difference, though, were the eyes and the smiles. The eyes sparkled without fear, their smiles were wide without hurt, and McGee was sure that the letter was telling the truth. They were getting better. They were all getting better.

"And this one." Tony said, unfolding one of the letters on the desk.

The letter was obviously from one of the younger children and, indeed, the name _Bobby_ scrawled in fumbling print along the bottom proved it was from the youngest child. It had a picture of horses and cows and people with smiling faces and it had only a few words on the top.

_Dear Special Tim and Tony,_

_Thank you for saving my brothers. I thought we were going to die and now we get to live on a farm with horses and ducks and lots of food and we're not going to die yet. I don't know what I would have done if I had to stay in the basement without my brothers. We are going to be adopted and be a real family now. _

"Wow." McGee said, looking at the paper and wondering if Abby could put it up in her lab somewhere, a reminder of why they did the job for those days when they seemed to be accomplishing nothing.

"Yeah." Tony said, smiling. He got up with a sudden bustle of energy, looking out the window at the swirling snowflakes. "Want to raid the vending machines for some dinner, Special Tim?"

"Always, Special Tony." McGee said, getting up without putting pressure on his arm, because sometimes pain was just a bitch. "I'm right behind you."

And McGee did trail Tony by only a couple of steps, with those couple of steps giving him time to think about how those boys he'd saved were becoming brothers, how he'd grown up without any brothers, and how lucky he was to have found a brother of his own.

**The end.**

**It's so nice to be able to have a completely happy ending for once. Sometimes life does turn out like that. Sometimes you really can be completely and totally happy. Thanks to everyone for sticking with us this long. Have a happy and healthy 2011, and enjoy everything you've been blessed with.**


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